


Responsibility

by LadyTroll



Series: Eternity is a Long Time Coming [2]
Category: Gloryhammer (Band)
Genre: Dialogue Heavy, Gen, Headcanons ahead, I have a strong opinion about some things in their lore, the regular GH disclaimer applies, the terrorvortexed dimension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 23:20:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24833722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll
Summary: "I know you are there, hermit. I ought to have known you would follow me. I hope you will forgive me, for not jumping with surprise, or excitement, at your entrance. It’s not exactly novel, after so many years, don’t you think?"
Series: Eternity is a Long Time Coming [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1761433
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	Responsibility

**Author's Note:**

> Before we start, let me just say that _you cannot just give a discarded ''Angus'' line to your canon villain and hope people will not ask questions_. That's not how it works. That's not how any of it works.

A dull, dusty, dark, lazy day slowly bid its time outside, and not even the large windows succeeded in illuminating the room atop of one of the pyramid buildings in what had formerly been known as the City of Dundee. What scarce sunlight breached the clouds and the glass hoped to bounce off the throne so cunningly placed that whoever sat in it remained in the shadows while simultaneously having a complete view of the room, only for the already meagre shine to be swallowed, mercilessly, by the crystal the throne was carved from. Overall, the sky seemed intent on extinguishing the last traces of sunlight from the world on this fine day, and the throne room – for it could be rightfully called by this name – was drowning in shadows only deepened by the lack of artificial light sources, the heavy dark blood flags with the warped star-like sigils on them blending into the twilight along with the rest of the lavish decorations the room would have otherwise seen. The ornamental lamps on the walls reminded of the maws of ancient serpent-beasts, and in one corner, like curious animals snoozing on the fluffy carpet that covered the entirety of the floor of the room, there was a large war-table and a few chairs scattered around it.

The large door on the opposite to the window opened, in complete silence, a tall figure carrying a wizard’s staff entered, and the construction fell shut with a click that might as well have been the rounds from a cannon, so very out of place as the sound was right now. Their long coat blowing behind (magic was clearly involved), the masked figure crossed the room with long strides and deposited the staff – a twisted, creepy thing that reminded of a cluster of vines covered in thorns – in a stand next to the throne, where it now became the sole source of light within the room, the bluish-green sheen of the orb floating on its top dyeing everything around it in cold blue tones, before they proceeded to the window overlooking the plains and the grand portal of another, smaller pyramid beneath. To the right of said pyramid, a horde of undead supervised by a group of very much human – and very much alive – architects and engineers who were, on their turn, supervised by a group of deathknights, were busy constructing something that bore resemblance to a large pedestal intertwined with the remains of what had been a grand citadel right in the heart of Dundee, before the Forces of Evil had arrived and swept it from the face of the earth. 

The person spent a moment observing the landscape – or perhaps merely contemplating on whatever Mighty Evil Plan might have been brewing in their head at that time – with hands clasped behind their back, before they turned their head, to look over their right shoulder:

\- I know you are there, hermit.

Following these words, what could have been assumed a mere shadow in a cluster of shadows in the corner of the room stepped forward.

\- I ought to have known you would follow me, - the sorcerer continued, as he reached up and removed his mask. – Didn’t expect you’d take quite so long, though. I hope you will forgive me, for not jumping with surprise, or excitement, at your entrance. It’s not exactly novel, after so many years, don’t you think?

His face, now unmasked, was tired, strikingly pale against the dark mane of hair and the mahogany red armour. Markings, alit with pale red and gold, etched into skin unconsenting more than a millennia ago, showed from under the tall collar and the long sleeves. 

There was nothing in the warlock’s eyes, and it felt like looking into the void, as the hermit held the wizard’s gaze.

Any other person would have felt fear or, at the very least, unease. Ralathor, however, felt only pity. The hermit, he was sorry for the creature in front of him who hardly deserved to be called a human any longer.

\- Why are you here? – with the mask gone, the sorcerer’s voice was undistorted, almost soft, yet carrying a tinge of cold resentment towards everything and nothing at the same time.

\- Things are getting out of hand, don’t you think? – there was an answer, inside the question, one that the dark wizard did not appear too appreciative of.

\- Again with the sentimental rubbish, - Zargothrax turned his back on the hermit again. – Don’t you ever get tired? Or are you still hoping for… how’d they say, again? Miraculous turning of the heart?

\- Change. Miraculous _change_ of heart.

\- Same thing. Aren’t you tired? You obviously know that there is nothing you can say that will do the trick, otherwise you would have talked me to death already. Why bother?

\- You’re my responsibility.

\- No. I stopped being that, a long, long time ago. I’m no longer that same boy, and you are no longer that same hermit.

\- I let you down.

\- That’s how you call it? Suppose that might be the right word, yes. Suppose we shouldn’t point fingers here.

Ralathor did not answer. Instead, while the wizard spoke, he had walked up to the throne and was inspecting it, with curiosity almost uncharacteristic to the underground dweller. The structure of the peculiar piece of furniture was familiar yet odd at the same time; it represented of itself a twisted mockery of its cousin, the black crystal surface smooth and cold to the touch, and the light from the orb hovering just a step from it was not enough to chase away the darkness inside of it that appeared to move as though the skilled artist who had carved it had also captured a cluster of the night itself inside a crystalline prison.

\- Impressive, no? – Zargothrax was pleased about the interest that the throne had summoned; one could hear that in the wizard’s voice. – A lot better than that shiny thing. At least this one doesn’t blind you when you look at it. Tell me, old friend, when did you become so very, very indifferent towards the way things run in the world? It must have been sometime between me plunging headfirst into that vat, and me finally getting thawed. Very interesting experience, by the way, I wholeheartedly recommend. But, let’s return _to you_.

\- You accuse me of indifference? – Ralathor leant closer to the staff and examined the floating orb, which resulted in the hermit concluding that it was, indeed, the very same crystal key that had brought upon them such grievances in a Universe that was now somewhere very, very far away. It did not appear as though the wizard minded; at least lightning bolts or fire had yet to be thrown at the visitor. – You, of all people?

\- I am not _indifferent_. I feel hatred. Anger.

\- And fear.

The sorcerer paused, for a second. Ralathor watched him lift his hand and feel about his throat.

\- At least I feel _something!_ \- Zargothrax finally declared, and it was clear that the wizard had not appreciated the reminder. – But you, _you_ ’ve become dulled, over the past centuries. What happened? It’s not that you no longer care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be gathering an army as we speak. Emotions are a human thing, you know. We’re, thankfully, still allowed to have them. So, how did it happen that you forgot about that, hm?

\- You obviously know nothing about what happened while you were… - Ralathor silenced, trying to find the right word for what he wanted to say, but all that the hermit could manage was an inarticulate hand gesture that expressed all and nothing at the same time.

\- “Frozen”, that’s the word you’re looking for, hermit. While I was _frozen_ , - the sorcerer began pacing about in front of the window. – Sounds strange, I give you that, - he tsked. – And I saw more than you think I did. Ah, would you look at _that_.

Zargothrax tilted his head in a curious manner, like a child, as, with a wave of his hand, he asked the hermit to join him at the window, and they watched one of the undead tumble down the scaffolding erected around the pedestal. On its way down, the creature hit another of its brethren, and together they hit a third one and so on, and so on, until the whole group came cascading down the wooden frame. On the ground, they were met by a couple of engineers and deathknights, everybody (living) gesticulating wildly as they proceeded to cuss out the undead while the latter attempted to pick themselves up from the ground, detached limbs going missing or getting mixed up in the process.

\- Miserable workers, - Ralathor allowed himself an amused snort, before he commented on the complete uselessness of what had most likely begun their lives as peasants. – Can’t you at least turn people who know what they are doing?

\- I need those alive and healthy, - the wizard shrugged. – Besides, the undead are mighty stupid.

\- All those years, and you never figured out how to make them smart?

\- Look, - Zargothrax clasped his hands, in an exaggerated exasperation, - brain rots, okay?! It rots really damn fast, at that! And it just leaks all over the place, as it does! All that smart just flows away with the brain and into the drain, no matter how fast you scurry to retrieve it. It’s pretty disgusting, too.

\- Yes, thank you very much for reminding me _that_ , - there was an expression of complete, utter disgust on the hermit’s face. – That was the first time I truly regretted letting anyone inside my home.

\- _Your home was a clusterfuck of tunnels in the ground!_ I am sure the dwarves were delighted to have you as their neighbour.

\- Never had any trouble with them. Unlike _some wizards_ , I am not prone to opening strange portals to hell dimensions.

\- Well, you should try! Very relaxing, particularly when you want to set the whole of the Universe on fire. I saw everything, - Zargothrax’s shoulders dropped, just for a second. – There are more ways to leave places you hate, not just the accustomed, physical one. So, if you think that I was in those dungeons and then on Triton the whole time… well, you just might be a fool. And do not tell me you didn’t see it, too! All the wars, all the bloodshed, the slavery, the misery that the mighty _Galactic Empire of Fife_ , - the sorcerer spat those words out like a rotten apple accidentally bitten into, - was built upon. And then, then there were the _McFifes_. Seated on the Crystalline Throne, claiming to care even for the smallest of their subjects, while choosing to be blind to everything that did not threaten their position of power. Do not tell me you never wanted to intervene. I know you too well to believe that to be true.

\- People in glass houses, Zargothrax. People in glass houses.

\- Pah! – Zargothrax threw his hands up. – At least I’m honest about what I do! I want to kill people, so I do! I want to rule the Universe, _because I want to rule the Universe!_ None of that two-faced shite about forever peace in the galaxy!

\- What about freedom?

Ralathor had hoped for a tinge of remorse, or ruefulness, to appear on the pale face after he had asked this question, yet no such change took place. Instead, there flashed a queer, toothy grin, reminiscent of the smile of a predator rather than a human being.

\- You and I had very different opinions about it, the last time we spoke. I don’t think anything’s changed.

\- Last time we spoke, you had yet to replace the collar that you broke, with the one around your neck _now_.

As though emphasizing the hermit’s words, the “collar” – a cluster of symbols fashioned in a shape truly reminiscent of a collar around the sorcerer’s neck – lit up ever so slightly, its light barely brighter than that of a fading firefly.

\- There is always a price to pay, - the warlock did not appear fazed by this observation, - I thought you knew that, hermit.

\- That’s what the Chaos Wizards are for, then? Paying the price?

\- Chaos Wizards? – the laughter this statement induced was cold; just like the grin before, the laughter was that of a predator before it brought the final strike down upon the prey. In all eternity, Zargothrax had never learned to laugh like a normal person… as normal as an immortal, evil wizard could be. – Chaos Wizards! Don’t make me laugh! Chaos Wizards! What good did they do? Stirred up the goblins and salted the McFifes here and there. They were – and still are – a bunch of incompetent buffoons that were gifted their magical abilities by some deities that got drunk enough one day and decided to pull a prank on the rest. Tharon-Zuls are the most incompetent of the most incompetent morons to ever incompetent in the history of all magic! If that’s one of the best wizard bloodlines in the Universe, then I’m a Hootsman!

\- And where is he now? – the question was more necessary than important, for Ralathor was well-aware that, if permitted to rant on, Zargothrax would effectively do so until the dawn two mornings in the future. – I saw him follow you into the wormhole not long after, so shouldn’t he be tagging along you, like a dumb dog?

\- Oh, I sent him off on a quest, so he wouldn’t get in my way. Now, where _did_ I send him… hmm, - Zargothrax spent a moment, thinking, - oh, never mind. I’m sure he’ll show up, sooner or later. Until then, I get to enjoy his absence. It took them centuries, cen-tu-ries to figure out where I was, and _then_ it took them a couple more centuries, to figure out how to free me! And then, - the wizard was truly riled up now, even despite the well-meant interruption, and all Ralathor could do was to stand back and hope not to get in the way of a stray lightning bolt, for he was not certain that Zargothrax would not, at some point, want to emphasize his point with a stray lightning bolt or two, - then, when they finally did, _then_ it turned out they had zero idea where the portal was! Zero! Absolutely no idea! Centuries of research – and they couldn’t find the thing right under their nose! I’d have had more luck if I’d asked the peasants in Auchtermuchty! Some wizards, really. _Amateurs._

\- How’d you find it, anyway?

Ralathor, of course, had his suspicion and guesses, one wilder than the other, and he had, ever since that fateful day, felt a tinge of remorse for not catching up with the wizard earlier in the caves. If nothing else, he would at least know who on earth was traitor enough to show an evil sorcerer the way through the dwarven tunnels (that Ralathor, and for a good reason, too, considered _his_ territory). Alas, he had been of the opinion that he still had the time to catch up with the sorcerer and this mysterious companion – only to find out that, regardless of its kind, immortality did mess with one’s perception of time, as he was too late and Zargothrax was about to unleash the Elder God Kor-Virliath onto the galaxy.

\- A unicorn! – Zargothrax just about beamed with triumph, even more so when he saw the hermit’s facial expression that revealed exactly _how_ Ralathor felt about the newly acquired information. – It’s good that they like me so much!

For a while, there was silence, as Ralathor tried, desperately so, to comprehend how he was going to pass this information on in case McFife… which one was it, again? The fifth? Twelfth? Well, the _current one_ , ever did make it to this dimension. Over this period of time, the wizard wandered away, into the shadows and to the war-table. He picked up one of the figurines there, a small undead eagle fashioned after the likes of those which the Deathknights of Crail rode into battle, and moved it to a different spot on the map, before arranging other figures in a formation around it.

\- Here is what I have been wondering about, - Zargothrax finally broke the silence, - had you known what will happen, had you known of the events that would take place. Would you have walked past?

\- No.

\- Not even hesitating? – there was amusement in the sorcerer’s voice. – Not even for a second?

\- It was the right thing to do.

\- Even if you knew at that moment that you could prevent all of this from happening? Be honest with yourself for once! You would!

\- I would have bargained for a discount. There should have been one, for all the headache you brought along!

\- Well, _I_ say, you got away cheap! All that effort, all that work put into this, - Zargothrax gestured about himself, - and to sell it for three gemstones? That’s an insult! And you are telling me that mortals are not stupid!

\- He probably just wanted to get rid of you. I would.

\- Then why don’t you kill me yourself? – the sorcerer tilted his head. – I am certain that you are way more powerful than I’ll ever be. You could probably disintegrate me, just by snapping your fingers. If you had done so, right after I rode into Dundee, you could have prevented all of this. I saw you back then, in the shadows. And that’s where you’ve been ever since. Always there, always watching from the shadows. You think I don’t notice, but I always do. There were so many times when you could have just killed me and ended it all. But you didn’t. No, you got somebody else to try. That poor boy. Even _I_ felt sorry for them when I learned that you chose to put that burden onto the McFifes’ shoulders, knowing full well that it’s an almost impossible task. Interesting approach, by the way, putting information into the first one’s dream and making it look like an actual vision.

\- One does what he has to.

\- Even now, - Zargothrax pretended he had not heard the remark, - I am standing right here, with my back turned on you. My wards are down, and all you have to do is _strike_. But you won’t. Why? Are you still hoping for that change of the heart?

\- You know I can’t.

\- I have heard you curse your immortality more times than how many days I have been alive. If you hate it so much, why hesitate? Be done with it, and perhaps they’ll take your burden from you.

\- _Because there is still time._

The hermit, who had remained standing at the window and observing the dull landscape beyond it, with one hand on the glass, now rested his forehead against the cold surface as well, speaking without much hope that he would be heard. His words had fallen flat so many times before, why would they reach the wizard _now_?

_But what would it make him, if he did not try again and again, and again?_

\- There is still time. This does not have to happen. There’s still time to stop all of this. _Please_ , - a note of despair found its way into Ralathor’s voice, as he turned to look at the sorcerer who had crossed the room hastily and was once again standing next to him with an unreadable expression that could have been both alarm and annoyance on the pale face, - think about what you are doing! These people do not deserve anything of what’s happening to them now!

\- You and I both know what the answer to that will be, hermit, - turning his mask in hands, the wizard inspected it for a moment, or merely pretended to do so. – It is time for you to leave, now. My deathknights have noticed your presence, and they are on their way here. I can give you five minutes. That is all I can; if you are not gone by then, I do not hold myself responsible for what happens to you.

It was of tactical advantage, to know when a battle was lost and pushing on would lead to perilous consequences, and, just like it would have happened on a battlefield, Ralathor knew when to withdraw instead of asserting his truths. After all, they were only his, and no person in the Universe would be able to force somebody else into believing and thinking what the other person thought to be rubbish.

\- Good-bye, then, - the hermit bowed his head, slightly, and received an answer of the same kind. – Until we meet again.

\- Farewell, old friend.

Ralathor was almost at the door, when the sorcerer called out to him one last time:

\- I know we will, inevitably, meet on a battlefield once, - Zargothrax run his fingers across the surface of the mask, as he spoke, tracing its features, his pale face reminiscent of a skull, in the faint light of the crystal orb. – When that happens, I promise you, I will not seek you out.

\- Likewise.

The hermit was gone, with that, and, when the deathknights with Ser Proletius in the lead and followed by his second-in-command, Ser Zachary, barged into the throne room in an unorganized cluster, in search of the mysterious intruder, Zargothrax was slouching on the throne, legs crossed, with the hand that held the mask draped carelessly over the armrest so that the impressive horn-like structure adorning it scraped against the crystal surface.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. I'm still laughing about the idea that it was a _unicorn_ that led Zargothrax to the portal. That, and the fact that he somehow got close enough to them to even cast a spell of undeath in the first album must mean that the stabby white horses like the evil wizard better than they do the brave defenders. They probably just want to watch the world burn as much as he does.
> 
> 2\. You are not going to persuade me, even for a moment, that empires that last just short of 1k years were built on nice speeches and kindness. That's not how empires work. We can argue, of course, that the Hammer couldn't be wielded by the McFifes in that case, but really a lot of horrid things have been done under the belief that people committing them were actually doing a good, beneficial thing.
> 
> 3\. The ''You know I can't'' part is part of a hc, so you're going to have to stick around for quite some time to figure out what I'm talking about. For now:  
> There are things that are set in stone, and there are things that are far more flexible. The former cannot be tampered with, because things will go to hell very fast, if you do, so most you can is issue a small nudge here and there, to make sure they run the way they should. The latter you can mess with, because they are not important to the timeline, and it will find a way to set itself straight. (This runs hand-in-hand with my hc for the Reverse!AU)
> 
> 4\. I hope this might explain the question that went unasked, from the ''Aftermath'' fic.


End file.
